Promise Me
by court.von.D
Summary: Shepard never did make a certain promise. Because she was a woman of her word. (Rated T, but Jack's love of the F word is in it)


**A/N:** Hey! So it's Yvonne Strahovski's birthday (at least it still is in my time-zone, July 30th), and I've been having issues writing my current fic, so I cranked out this one-shot for today! (Anyone reading Losing Even That, don't worry, this has nothing to do with it.) Hopefully some of my more tragedy-minded friends will approve ;)

* * *

The air was choked with smoke and a thousand different smells of death and war.

Resistance.

Unspeakable brutality.

Survival.

Undeserved compassion.

Victory.

Miranda Lawson swallowed the gag forming in her throat as she stepped from the battered shuttle to the broken ground. Her long, dark hair was pulled loosely to the back of her head, stray locks falling to frame her dirt, dried blood, and sweat-streaked features.

Steel beams jutted skyward from haphazard, crumbling buildings, piercing the smog that had settled low in the sky. The hastily-cleared landing pad she stood on was a mess of cracked concrete; little more than debris and dirt.

Bloodshot, steel-blue eyes flicked to an approaching figure in Alliance armor that looked almost as battle-weary as the man's pale face.

A jagged, only partially-congealing laceration snaked from his left eyebrow around the side of his head, through a tightly-cropped side of tan hair. "Miranda Lawson!" He had to shout to be heard above the roar of the shuttle as it lifted off again. His arm pulled up to block his face from the dirt and concrete chips whipping through the air. _Commander Bailey. _"Follow me!" He turned and started running through the rubble of a no-man's-land. A nightmarish playground of metal beams and slabs of building separating the landing pad from what had once been a furniture warehouse.

Now a makeshift trauma center.

Bailey moved with dogged purpose over the obstructions, no doubt having had to do it dozens of times already since the firing of the Crucible.

Three hours of communications blackout.

And then, the message that came pouring into the Intelligence Field Office where she had been.

_Shepard located. Coordinates pending authorization codes. Shepard located. Coordinates pending authorization codes…_

Her legs pulled her forward almost of their own accord.

The grand entrance consisted of two enormous, plastic tarps hanging in front of a gigantic hole in the side of the building.

Time and space seemed to blend as they wound through cots filled with groaning soldiers and civilian resistance fighters.

Cots filled with still, silent soldiers and resistance fighters.

Nurses and doctors, all looking much worse for wear, scurried between patients.

Miranda saw one nurse take an asari commando's hand—blue flesh on her fingers indiscernible from where her armor once covered—and begin muttering something almost rhythmic.

Practiced.

A prayer.

_Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess._

Miranda finally found her voice. It was ragged. Exhausted. "Bailey…"

"We're almost there," he panted back, leading them up a stairwell.

"How is she?"

"Keep moving," he answered, not looking over his shoulder.

Miranda ignored the pain screaming up her right thigh where she'd had an unpleasant encounter with a banshee only five hours before.

God.

It felt like a lifetime.

Two guards were posted at the top of the stairs, assault rifles clutched tightly against their chests, red-rimmed eyes sweeping across Bailey and Miranda. They shifted to let them pass.

Voices floated down the hall from around a turn ahead.

"Hey! No smoking!"

"Fuck you!" Familiar. She knew the voice. Miranda couldn't help the choked noise of relief that escaped her throat. "When you've been getting your ass torn to shreds next to the commander for months, and then have to leave her for some goddamn 'greater good', we can fucking talk! And then…I had to…and…shit, the person who…fuck!"

Miranda pushed past Bailey and sprinted around the corner. Acrid cigarette smoke joined the smells of the nearly-destroyed city seeping through the walls.

"Fuckin' hell…" Jack muttered, the hard expression on her face melting into disbelief. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Her nose and cheeks were rosy, as well. Her hair, that had been pulled back in a ponytail, now hung limply at the sides of her head.

Miranda couldn't help it. She grabbed the tattooed instructor in a hug. So much death. Someone she knew was still alive. "Your students?"

She was relieved when Jack, after a moment's hesitation, returned the gesture of affection. "They're alright…which…" She pulled back and her almond eyes refused to meet Miranda's. "Fuck."

Miranda heard Bailey approach behind them, his steps slowing. She turned to look at him, and then the guard stationed at the door to her right. Bailey and the guard locked gazes before lowering their heads. "Is she in there?"

Jack took a long drag of the cigarette she held in trembling fingers before flicking it to the tiled floor.

Miranda practically threw herself against the door, slamming into the room. "Shepard?"

She could still make out her face.

That beautiful face…that she never told her was.

A broken nose that hadn't been set under blackened eyes that were closed. A rough blanket was pulled up to her chin. It had to be hiding horrific burning, if the haphazard, singed ends of Shepard's hair were anything to go by.

"Shepard!" Miranda's voice cracked as she rushed forward and stood at the side of the bed. "God, Shepard, you…" Her eyes turned slowly to the computer monitors that should have been monitoring vitals. Heart rate. Blood pressure. Brain activity. None of them were on.

The door to the room closed again and Jack's tired, rasping voice met her ears. "She…held on as long as she could…"

"No…" It was as if all the air in her body left with the one word. Miranda reached shaking hands out to cup around Shepard's cheeks. "No…Shepard? Shepard, goddammit, you're not allowed to do this…"

"Miranda," Jack murmured, pulling forward and putting a hand on her arm. "She's gone."

Miranda wanted to hurl Jack against the wall, wanted to shake the damn woman she'd come to love until she woke the hell up. All she could do was blink tears from her face to watch them drip onto Shepard's battered features. "Please…please, wake up?"

Jack swallowed hard. "She said...to tell you that...uh…"

"No. She can tell me herself," Miranda said, the lump growing in her throat becoming harder to speak around. "Hear that? You have to…you have to wake up, dammit…and tell me…yourself…" She stared at Shepard's unmoving face for several minutes before leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. "When?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

"Maybe…ten…fifteen minutes before you got here."

It was then that Miranda finally let the animal-like howl rip from her throat. She pulled away from the bed and hurled bolt after bolt of white-blue energy at the opposite wall. She didn't care if she brought the room down on top of them.

"Hey! Hey! Fuck! STOP." Jack ran forward and pinned her arms down by grabbing her in a hug from behind.

Miranda couldn't see her face, but she could hear the emotion thick in her voice.

"It'll…it'll…be…okay, you know? We'll figure it out. You're the fucking brains of…lots of shit."

"There's no fixing her this time, Jack," she answered flatly, staring at the wall that now had chunks torn out of it. "There isn't enough technology or credits left in the galaxy for that, now."

Jack slowly loosed her hold and Miranda sank to the ground.

_"So...you better promise me...p__romise me you won't die, dammit."_

_ "__That's…not exactly how it works. If you…don't want to do this, then…I understand."_

_ "__No. I do."_

Miranda closed her eyes, trying to remember the feel of Shepard holding her close. How perfect that moment had been, curled in the commander's arms, face nestled against her neck.

The door opened again and Bailey's head appeared through the opening. "Hey, uh…is everything alright in here?"

Jack was readying to reply, but Miranda beat her to it.

"No."


End file.
